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“The only science fiction in this story is the assumption of extraterrestrial life capable of unopposed invasion and prolonged occupation. All other aspects are based on hard fact.”

These were the first lines featured on a multimedia storytelling website that was created by director Rupert Wyatt for the film Captive State.

Having worked with Rupert before, I have come to expect the substantial amount of visual detail he immerses himself in when starting a project. Our creative partnership began a few years back on a remake of The Gambler. We have collaborated on other projects, including a TV series called Echo Chamber and a Fox Features film for the DC Universe, Gambit. Unfortunately, neither project came to be, but we have had great fun conceptualizing together and have developed a confidence and trust over the years.

Rupert’s site featured a vast collection of research ranging from photographs, musical inspirations, paintings and graphics: Images that mixed science fiction with the real world. Primitive architectural wonders alongside renderings of fantasy cities. Anatomical oddities of all types. Video clips of violent street protests. Hostage negotiations. Domestic strife. Images of high-tech equipment from eras gone by. Walled cities and devastating sink holes. Visual moments of sorrow and joy. Tonally it ranged from menacing to hopeful. There was even a bizarre sound bite featuring an angry ostrich warning call (if you haven’t heard it, I encourage you to Google it). This was not going to be a typical science fiction story and I couldn’t wait to dive in deeper.

Co-written by Rupert and Erica Beeney, the film takes place nine years in the future after a peaceful but overwhelming invasion and occupation. An alien species, while not in evidence on a daily basis, exists on earth. In the depths of a Chicago winter, the central part of the city is closed off to all human access. Within this closed zone, sink holes bellow mysterious steam into the atmosphere. Modern technology has been rendered obsolete. Intimidating drones keep a watchful eye. Humankind is seemingly inert and literally powerless. Held captive. But an insurgency is on the rise.

Imagine this is happening outside your window.

This is the premise Rupert would put to every department head as they joined the project. He would go on to describe the storytelling style as a hyper-narrative, a term used to describe works with a branching structure where the viewer makes choices between multiple characters and sequential plot paths that ultimately form one story.

Not your typical story structure. Not an outright science fiction film. An action-driven script layered with sociological depths on par with more political dramas. Rupert was determined to keep the story and the characters moving throughout. Employing handheld cameras and quick cutting, everything would play out on street level. The camera would either be leading or following the heroes through this desperate world. The texture of actual locations was wanted. No sets were to be built on stage.

I highlighted words and phrases from the script: moving, running, clamoring, chasing, tracking, he weaves thru a maze, he runs on, hidden, underground, trains, cars, stairwells, hallways, elevators, tunnels, shortcuts, alleys, streets, fire escapes and rooftops. The characters rarely pause in one place. The linear footage of locations was to be extensive. Rupert and intrepid producer David Crockett set out to pitch the project to various studios. Within days, Participant Media had championed the endeavor. And with that news, I packed my bags and headed for the Windy City.

A. WICKER PARK AFTERMATH. CONCEPT ILLUSTRATION BY KATE EMERY.

B. THE CLOSED ZONE. CONCEPT ILLUSTRATION BY JOANNA BUSH.

C. PIRATE RADIO STATION. SET LOCATION PHOTO BY DOUGLAS MOWAT.

A Future Stripped of the Present

It was the fall of 2016 when I arrived in my hometown of Chicago, Illinois, to start scouting. The leaves on the trees were turning and there was a frosty chill in the air. Early forecasts were predicting a harsh winter. Temperatures were to drop below freezing and a heavy snowfall could be expected. It’s exactly the look needed for the film!

For weeks in preproduction, Sunday mornings were dedicated to casual “script page-turn” brunch meetings with Rupert and director of photography Alex Disenhof. We reviewed many documentary-style movies, ’71 , La Haine, The Wire, Army of Shadows, Gomorrah, The Battle of Algiers, all human stories. All visceral in style. This was the style and tone Rupert wanted.

So what would an American city under occupation look like? In order to set some visual guidelines, we began to pose a few questions. The city should feel familiar, yet unfamiliar. The aliens (known as The Legislators) are strip-mining fossil fuels. Gasoline is hard to come by. We asked ourselves how that might affect the environment. Once the fuel ran out, abandoned cars would be left to rust where they stalled. And what if those cars were eventually collected and disposed of? The streets would be empty. The hypothesis formed that what was not seen would help shape this “new” vision of the city.

The idea formed of a city is stuck in time. There’s been no urban progression since the invasion. Electricity and water filtration would be unreliable. Common appliances (refrigerators, stoves, faucets, etc.) are unusable. What if citizens in this new ghetto had to supply their own power and clean water? What would those jerry-rigged devices look like? And on and on. That’s where the conversation started. Other creative heads, like costume designer Abby O’Sullivan, soon joined in the exercise and even more nuances were explored. A cohesive visual plan was in the making!

Rupert wanted a gritty Philip K. Dick type of science fiction. Grounded and relatable. Dirty. Analog. The exterior color palette was dictated by the warm earth tones of the brick and concrete textures of the neighborhood architecture. Brighter colors were reserved for domestic interiors and costume highlights. The city is being drained of life. That notion is reflected in the desaturated exterior tones. While the interior residences still impart a sense of hope (color), all things alien were to exist in the dark gray, metallic color realm.

Without a lot of time spent inside character dwellings, it was decided most interiors should feel similar in their lack of personality. Colorful yes, but devoid of most personal possessions. Valuables would be traded on the black market in exchange for more essentials needed for survival. Namely, food, water and batteries.

I was fortunate to enlist three incredible illustrators. Joanna Bush, John Eaves and Kate Emery were all tasked with the challenge of translating my rudimentary location sketches and then rendering them into “wonderfully ugly” concept illustrations. The goal was to keep the renderings somber in tone. Not exactly dystopic, but moody just the same. To convey ever-present overcast skies, a subtle fog layer and frigid air temperature.

With a collapsed infrastructure, the city is literally eroding and rusting. To enhance this concept, Graphic Designer Karen Sori created various corrosive, bleached and distressed finishes. Printed on a clear vinyl and static materials, the Art Department applied these to existing items throughout the city. Easy on, easy off. Dumpsters, street signs, windows, etc. So convincing was this tact that many a rusted vinyl got left behind at wrap (all were retrieved later).

D. THE CLOSED ZONE TRANSITION AREA/GANTRY, TOWER AND POD. ON LOCATION IN CHICAGO.

The Closed Zone

Written as a high-walled perimeter, stretching across a five-mile section of the city. This area is closed off to all human access. Concrete slabs are graffti-covered with monstrous, demonic faces, symbols and text. Rebellious messages. OUR DAY WILL COME. THEY’RE HERE TO STAY. THEY’RE HERE TO DESTROY. TO EXIST IS TO RESIST. Evidence of street-level upheaval. Messages from freedom fighters poised to take their city back. The symbol of a phoenix rising.

The initial approach to location scouting was aimed to avoid famous landmarks of Chicago and keep to the outlying neighborhoods. Existing along the outskirts of this Closed Zone, and serving as the visual core of the film, the historic towns of Pilsen and Andersonville were selected. Each on the verge of revitalization and gentrification, they currently thrive as evidence of an era gone by. Similar in history and architectural styles, both are working-class neighborhoods pleasantly “worn” around the edges displaying layers of history. Each touted labyrinthian alleyways and hulking concrete L track platforms. These would serve as the imposing Closed Zone walls. Standing fifteen feet in actual height, the concept artists and visual effects team would render these facades at nearly double that height.

Long tracking shots were devised which meant hundreds of feet of graffti were needed. Cold weather, city restrictions and time constraints dictated that Graphic Designer Karen Sori set about crafting and manuacturing printed material in lieu of actually spray painting (and restoring) on location. Rolls of “graffiti wallpaper” were color-proofed to match the existing concrete surface. Edges were raggedly torn and water-based paint blended where the material met the surface. Other than the early-morning rain and windstorm that tore the entire length of scenery to bits, it was a very successful application! The crew had just enough time and material to re-apply the battered graffti wallpaper before camera rolled.

A. ACOLYTES ENCAMPMENT. CONCEPT ILLUSTRATION BY JOANNA BUSH.

B. ACOLYTES ENCAMPMENT. SET LOCATION PHOTO BY DAWN SWIDERSKI.

C. LAKESIDE HIDEOUT. SET LOCATION PHOTO BY CHRIS CLEEK.

Legislators, Hunters and Drones

Rupert envisioned two alien species for the film. Legislators (the brains) and Hunters (the muscle). Their basic anatomy was to be carbon-based and insectile in form. After many conversations, Rupert and I streamlined specific research details to guide the visual effects department in its efforts to design these shadowy alien creatures. Visual effects supervisor Eric Pascarelli, in conjunction with Jellyfish Pictures, spent months developing the Legislators anatomy, mobile artillery machines (walkers), mothership, prison transports and alien drones.

The VFX teams worked closely with Rupert to ensure his very distinct vision was realized. It was crucial to explore the backstory and mythology of the film’s antagonists. Although never explicitly revealed in the film, the Legislators are a mining species, more comfortable living in extreme conditions underground. The designs all drew from this and used the forms and textures of volcanic rock, which enabled Jellyfish Pictures’ Art Department, led by creative director Tom Brass, to develop a distinct design language for the aliens, drones and ships. The look was to be grounded and realistic, but also unusual, uncanny and unsettling. Everything in keeping with the aesthetic mantra ‘dirty sci-fi.’ Aaron Sims Creative and KNB Special Effects worked cohesively on the Hunter concepts, special effects makeup and suits.

By far, the biggest challenge facing the Art Department was the Closed Zone Transition Area. A secret underground access point for the human collaborators to interact with the Legislators. Dawn Brown Manser, an Art Department “Jane-of-all-trades,” was brought on to design this set. Under an unreasonable time crunch, Dawn managed to conceptualize, design and detail the gantry, tower and pod. The design of the structure was inspired by aerospace engineering and functional aesthetics from the 1960s Space Race era. A design decision in keeping with the “present stuck in the past” concept.

A. UNITY RALLY BANNER. GRAPHIC BY KAREN SORI.

B. ALTERNATE POWER SOURCE/HACKER’S DEN. SET LOCATION PHOTO

C. MULLIGAN IN the POD. THE CLOSED ZONE TRANSITION AREA. PRODUCTION PHOTO COURTESY OF FOCUS FEATURES.

Monsters Under a Bridge

An acolytes encampment. A coven of alien worshippers. Faithful disciples eager to welcome the Legislators. Drug-addled and physically malformed, these human “monsters” have been ostracized from society and now dwell in the shadows of the city’s bridges and underpasses. Their grotesque, insectoid appearance remains hidden behind ghostly shrouds. Homeless and unwelcome. Harmless, yet terrifying. Witnessed only at night, their dwellings were designed to emit a mysterious glow from within. Ramshackle structures were erected with found materials like pallets, discarded lumber, metal and translucent boat sails. Building this haunting tent city was one of many fun and creative challenges.

An Automobile Graveyard

Perhaps escape from these desperate circumstances is possible by water. Perhaps not. A giant alien artillery defense system is in evidence at this distant perimeter. Far across the lake, transport ships ascend into the sky and beyond. Getting across the lake appears impossible. Scripted to take place on the shores of Lake Michigan, the Steelworkers Park and Canal was selected. This enormous historic structure lies dormant. Four parallel, half-mile long, thirty-foot-high battered masonry walls were once filled with limestone and iron ore that fed the largest blast furnace in the world. For the film, it would act as an abandoned graveyard of forgotten automobiles. Relics of the mass exodus from the city, dumped here to clear the roads.

Two small metal shanties were also built here, camouflaged to match the surroundings. As this area is un-policed by drones, it also plays as a black market hideaway. Food, clean water, batteries, music, etc., are all in high demand. I remember the unforgivingly cold wind chill off the lake made for an interesting preproducton and shoot here. Paint nozzles and camera parts were in constant need of thawing, not to mention the crew.

An abandoned subway station accidentally becomes a safe haven for one of the rebels, but this is a forbidden, restricted area. The hero soon finds out that he has stumbled into a nest of angry alien drones. When disturbed, like bats in a cave, the drones menacingly swarm. This untapped gem of a location was found in a state of distress that was perfect for the scene. Alas, in order to make the set hospitable for the film crew, it was necessary to remove years of dust, trash and other “questionable” detritus, only to replace it with “clean” layers of dust, trash and detritus. Now that’s what I call Art Direction!

When Stars Are Bright

I was so fortunate to have two artistic all-stars join me on this thrill ride of a show. Supervising Art Director Dawn Swiderski and set decorator Douglas Mowat each assembled and managed a tireless and talented art, construction and set decoration team. While weathering the bitter cold and often dingy locations, their enthusiastic efforts helped create a “fresh” vision of a familiar genre. ADG